---Summary: A young Sam has a lot of questions, but John doesn't realize that he wants answers as well.
Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural. Also, the title is borrowed from the band CCR.
I Wanna Know
"Come on boys, we gotta get going," I yell as I throw a duffle bad full of guns and knives into the trunk, where more weapons lie messily. I should probably clean those up. Then again, I've never been one for organization.
"We're comin' sir," my boy yells back at me. A second later, Dean comes out of the little house we've been staying in, Sammy in tow.
"I don't wanna go," Sam whines. Seems like he's always complaining about something these days. Then again, he's only eight. Maybe he's supposed to whine about everything. But Dean never complained; never questioned any orders. I wonder why Sam's so different.
"Dean, get your brother situated in the car. We're heading out in five."
"Yes sir," is all he says. No complaining; no questions.
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We've been driving for three hours straight now and Sam's getting restless. And when Sam gets restless, he asks questions.
"Dad, where are we going?"
"Ohio," I say for the millionth time.
"Oh," he replies. "Dad?"
"Yeah, Sam?"
"Why Ohio?"
I sigh. It's been a long day and a long drive, and the heat is impairing my mood. I'm really not up for answering questions. "Because there's a hunt there."
"Oh." A few seconds later, "Dad?"
"Sam?"
"What kind of hunt?"
"A demon."
"Oh, okay." Just when I think he's done, he speaks up again. "Hey, dad?"
"Sam?"
"Why do you have to hunt it?"
"Because it's hurting people, Sam," I answer, my voice harsher than I mean for it to be.
After a few seconds of peace, I hear Sam's voice again. "What kind of people?"
I'm about to loose my temper, but then hear Dean's voice, which almost makes me jump. He's been so quiet until now, and I'm glad he speaks up to save me from Sam's never ending questions. "He likes to take little boys, just about your age," Dean tells his brother, although his voice holds no hint of seriousness.
Still, Sam's eyes grow wide. "Dad?"
"Dean, stop scaring your brother," I say seriously, although a smile threatens to show.
"Sorry dad," he says. "But seriously, Sam, stop with the twenty questions, alright?"
Sam crosses his arms in protest. Everything's quiet for a few minutes, until I hear Sammy's voice again. It never fails. "Dad, is this demon like the one that killed mom?"
I pause, feeling uncomfortable about the direction Sam's questions have taken. "I don't know."
"Are you sad you didn't save mommy from that demon?"
I don't answer. I can't answer. My voice won't allow it.
"Sammy, be quiet," Dean whispers to his brother.
I guess Sam knows he's said something wrong now, because he's quiet. The rest of the trip is silent, as I drive into the night and the boys fall into a peaceful sleep.
I look at the two of them in the back seat. Sam is leaning against Dean, who has his arm protectively around his brother. It reminds me of a night about eight years ago. In fact, a few nights before Mary died.
"Mommy, when will Sammy be old enough to play baseball?" Dean asked as he cradled up to Mary, who held a gurgling baby Sammy in her arms.
Mary smiled. "I don't know. Ask your daddy."
"Daddy?"
I smiled at my son's eagerness. "How about we take him in the back yard tomorrow and teach him, kiddo?"
Dean giggled. "We can't do that, daddy."
"Why not," I teased.
Dean had a wide smile on his face. He though about my question for a minute, and then his smile faded. ""Cuase daddy. He's too little. He'll get hurt."
"Well, we don't want that, do we?"
"Nope."
"What a good big brother you are, Dean," Mary told him as she hugged him with her free arm. "Do you hear that Sammy? Your brother won't ever let anything happen to you."
"That's right, Sammy. I promise, I'm here to protect you."
A few days later, Mary was killed. As I look back at my boys, I remember just how close I came to loosing Sammy too. Both of them, for that matter. I remember the flames; remember Sam's wailing as I screamed out Mary's name; remember the fear of loosing everyone that I loved. I wish I could have protected her. I wish I would have made the same innocent promise as Dean had so many years ago. Because this far, my son has kept that promise to his little brother.
As I turned my gaze back to the road, I realize that Sam shouldn't have to wonder about the demon that killed his mother; shouldn't have to be worried about the evil that lurks in the night. And all I want is to know why this happened to us. Why did our lives have to be ruined? Why was the demon standing over my baby's crib? Why did my children have to be touched by evil? Why did my wife have to die? It isn't fair, I think.
Tears collect at the surface of my eyes, and just as I think I'm about to loose it, Sammy stirs in the back. He lifts his head from his brother's shoulder and yawns. I think he's going back to sleep, when I hear his voice. It's so soft, that I almost don't hear it.
"I'm sorry I made you sad, daddy," my little boy tells me. And I feel bad for the way I acted earlier, but of course I don't tell him that.
"It's ok, son."
"Daddy?" He yawns as he leans his head against his brother's shoulder once again.
"Yeah son?"
"You're going to catch the demon that killed her, right?" His voice is small; tired, but I realize how much he really wants to know the answer.
So I answer, "Yes, Sammy. Of course." He seems to be satisfied with my answer, and I watch as he closes his eyes and is lulled back to sleep by the sway and rumble of the car.
There are a lot of questions unanswered. I want to know the truth. I have to know the truth. But right now, all I can do is hunt. I can't stop to think about questions. I can't question life. Not now, not if I want to keep going with what little sanity I have left. But there was one question that I knew the answer to. One question that I wasn't afraid to know the truth about.
'You're going to catch the demon that killed her, right?'
"Yes," I say out loud. "Of course."
---Thanks for reading. What did you think? I'd love to hear your opinion. I will be posting a companion piece to this shortly.